


Reunion

by FalinMede



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Minor Spoiler Warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 02:08:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11499531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalinMede/pseuds/FalinMede
Summary: A bit of fluff for fans of The Lost Dragonborn who are fairly mad at how it ended (for now) MINOR SPOILER WARNINGS





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> Bishop is a product of the Skyrim Romance Mod by Mara. Not sure if I can put a link but legit just google and you'll find it. Its a mod, of course, and if you object to those, that's your choice. If not, go check it out because Bishop, until permission is revoked, is here to stay!

She almost felt she needed a leash, watching Falin dart back and forth around Solitude. She looked to Serana, hoping to portray her wishes and the vampire sighed and reached out, catching Falin by her shirt and yanking her back.   
“People seem tense,” Brynjolf remarked.  
Lilith trusted his judgment. He could read people and it was why she'd asked him along. She hadn't expected him to say yes, having recently been selected as leader of the Thieves Guild. She heard a lot of rumors out of Riften but the sheer amount made it hard to decipher which were real and which were false. And the haggard look of him told her not to ask. Or to bring up Syra. It was so obvious even Falin had kept her mouth shut and she proved to be the most tactless of them all.   
“I know him,” Lilith said.  
Which wasn't true of the man she pointed at. She knew of him. While her promotion to Arch Mage had been on somber terms, she'd still wanted to celebrate, especially since there were new students incoming. She wanted to celebrate them and to welcome how wonderfully the current students and staff had handled themselves under the pressure. She remembered the bard and his horribly tuned lute only because he'd hadn't had a lick of talent to speak of and she'd spent the whole night warding off spells meant to kill him. Still, she approached, plastering a smile on her face and hoping that the sheer amount of wine he'd thrown back that night dulled his memory of a certain grumpy orcish bookworm throwing him out into the cold.   
“You're a bard,” she greeted and kicked herself for her less than smooth delivery.   
He stared at her with handsome brown eyes that, thankfully, didn't recognize her.   
“Was,” his companion commented from beside him.  
He was crouching, arms crossed over his middle, looking none to pleased. He wasn't as attractive as his talentless friend beside him   
“Was?” Lilith asked, aware that Falin was peering over her shoulder, checking out the two like some lusty rabbit.   
The crouching one scoffed.  
“Some fancy pants showed up and next thing we know, the Queen's steward shows up and tells us we've gotta go,” he explained.  
“As I've learned, the only good bard is a silent one,” Falin remarked.   
She grinned and Lilith rolled her eyes, recalling Falin's detestment of the lute. She blamed it on Thaille, the damn redguard with a honeyed tongue.   
“Ignore her,” Brynjolf ordered, clearly sensing one or both of the bards was poised to argue.  
The thief stepped forward, his charm in place. His heart wasn't in it, Lilith could tell. That familiar glimmer was gone and this was Brynjolf who kept up appearances. She half wondered what he had expected, she really did. He still lived at the estate, hired a few servants even. She bit her lip, letting the thief work.  
“Now who would this heartless noble be that so rudely displaced you talented bunch,” he asked.  
Falin snorted and Lilith elbowed her. Skyrim's guards weren't the best but it wasn't mentioned to their faces.  
“She's not noble, so far as we can tell,” the bard responded, the one that had the handsome brown eyes.  
His talkative pal nodded.  
“Some bitch with a great rack,” he agreed. “In some serious armor.”  
“A great rack your say,” Falin repeated, looking thoughtful.  
“We're not here for that,” Lilith insisted and Falin pouted.  
“Serana wants to see too!” she argued. “And Bryn could use something pretty to look at!”  
“Lass,” Brynjolf sighed in frustration while Serana remained silent.  
Lilith looked at the other vampire, staring into the abyss where her soul should be and Serana just shrugged. Next, Lilith looked to Miraak who merely smiled, shaking his head. He never failed to find Falin amusing. She didn't even bother looking at Bishop.   
“Alright, where's the lady with a great rack now?” she demanded, feeling bad for this poor soul they'd be disturbing.  
How the heck would they even get in? 'Hi, nice to see you. Can we gawk at your breasts?'  
“She keeps to herself. Stays in the former college. If she needs something, the fancy help she got runs to get it,” the second bard explained, clearly bitter about the whole situation.  
“Did the bards really get kicked out with nowhere to go?” Bishop asked.  
He hated people, why he seemed surprised by crappy treatment after his many preachings about it was a surprise.   
“We live in the inn for now,” replied the first bard.  
“We should get back inside,” his companion grumbled, nodding at the door and they went.  
“What nice lads,” Falin remarked.  
Her grin was wicked.  
“I bet they're screamers.”  
“That's all you can say?” Bishop demanded as they began their walk towards the Bard's College.  
He scoffed.  
“They're run from their home without even a replacement offered and no one offers help.”  
He shook his head at Falin.  
“Distracted by breasts.”  
“Well, King High and Mighty,” Falin retorted. “You are more than capable of offering help.”  
She shrugged, her words having little bite to them.  
“If I worried about the evil of people and meditated on all the wrongs done to me, I'd never move on.”  
Bishop sobered at that, his eyes going to the slave markings tattooed around her neck, the only one she constantly left visible. As the hunter fell silent and the mood dimmed, Lilith hoped that perhaps the Bards' College would be out of their minds. Her luck was soured however when a dragon's shadow coasted over them and they all tensed as one, a reaction few had anymore. Dragons were rare in Skyrim. When Syra had left after the battle over Windhelm, the dragons had gone with her for the most part. Only Miraak remained, a fact Miraak was none too happy about if his stoic silence whenever the topic came up was anything to go by. Lilith didn't blame him either. He'd love Nithrogr, the dragon in Syra and there had been much to resolve between them and instead, Syra had run. She at least owed the man closure. But she was getting distracted again as she always did, wondering where her friend had ended up that even Dibella could not see. The dragon in particular soared to the college's amphitheater, landing gracefully on the reinforced columns and dropping the boon it carried from its jaws. Lilith's feet carried her faster as she realized that said boon was a mysterious sack, a fact she wouldn't learn about since a group of children fell on it with childlike delight, opening the sack and pulling out... toys. Lilith was dumbfounded as the dragon watched the children, a sort of... curiosity in its eyes. Still,she was the Arch Mage and as Tamriel's inhabitants, she was sworn to protect them.  
“Children, come away from there!” she ordered as she hurried along, companions in tow.  
They listened, scurrying away, laughing, their treasure in tow. The dragon looked to them, unconcerned, that reptilian gaze landing on Miraak, of course, and sending the dragon into the air before Lilith could reach it and ask her questions. All she could do was watch the sleek gray scales as they caught sunlight in varying angles as the beast coasted away. Lilith sighed, half up the stairs.  
“Now I am curious,” Miraak admitted.   
“I was always curious,” Falin added. “Though more about a rack worth mentioning then a dragon that delivers toys.”  
She snickered.  
“Think it delivers other things too?”  
“What do you want to do, lass?” Brynjolf asked, addressing Lilith and she drew herself tall.  
She didn't respond verbally, marching towards the door. With each step, she bounced between knocking and just barging in. On one hand she was polite but on the other, a dragon had just landed in the outside theatre where there'd been waiting children. This was clearly a reoccurring thing and that made it her business. She didn't get to decide however. Serana, no doubt sensing Lilith's warring sides, knocked. It was a sharp but careful knock and the door opened to it just enough that the Imperial servant could peek out, her features pinched and automatically disdainful.  
“The mistress was not expecting guests,” she said by way of greeting in the rudest tone ever.  
Her sneer at Lilith in particular made it easy to see that she did not favor elves. She had what was coming to her then, Lilith decided.  
“A dragon landed in the courtyard,” Lilith explained. “Your mistress may not have been expecting guests but she has them.”  
The servant didn't hear the warning in Lilith's voice nor in her eyes and instead chose to close the door. Sighing, the Altmer stepped aside and gestured to Falin who pounced forward like the mount she was so fond of riding, her usually graceful body hitting the door with added force. The servant cried out as the door flew open, knocking her aside and Falin completed her chaotic entrance by rolling into a table of plates, goblets and bowls. All of which clattered to the floor. The noise probably reached the street but Lilith was quick to usher everyone in and shut the door.  
“Serana, can you tame Falin please?” Lilith requested, knowing Serana would anyway.  
She really was the only one who could. For whatever reason, Falin adored Serana in the very same way the vampire adored her and that was with such little exposure between them. The bond was deep and Lilith envied that. She'd thought her bond with Syra to be that way yet the Dunmer/Nord halfling had left without a goodbye. Though to be fair, she hadn't said goodbye to any of them.  
“The mistress is not receiving guests!” hissed the old servant from the floor as she tried to regain her composure and get up.  
Lilith was faster, her body younger and fitter and so she hurried further in. She'd been in the college probably once. Perhaps twice. She looked around now, at the many chests waiting to be packed with something and knew that the eviction of the bards had happened recently. They were still packing the bards' things for the Nines' sakes.   
“Lilith!” Falin called out and Lilith cast a side glance, seeing the servant back up on her feet.  
She was pissed at this point and let it be known, magic gathering in her hands. Magic she threw at them. For someone so old, it was potent and would've packed a punch if Lilith hadn't been so fast at her own spells. She threw up a ward. She didn't want to hurt the old woman, knowing that she had barged in unannounced and using the graceful version of a battering ram didn't help her case. The old woman was crafty, tricky even and she threw another spell, one of ice rather than fire. It bounced against the ward, shattering, shards shooting off in various directions. Lilith closed her hand, her ward shrinking to palm size and she threw it at the woman who stood there, accepting the ward's embrace. It was a technique Lilith had developed but had yet to teach her students. It cut off magic use, temporarily, and was great for just such an occasion as this.  
“The mistress will handle you,” the woman gloated, her face mean.   
Lilith stepped closer to her, wanting to perhaps get a name out of her. Brynjolf stopped her.  
“By the gods,” he whispered and his voice held such emotion that it distracted her.   
She looked first to him and then, following his gaze, looked at the woman on the stairs who'd joined them. Her steps had been silent and calculated and why not? She'd been a former assassin. Lilith's lips parted and she had to drop her eyes in near disbelief. No, it couldn't be. It wasn't possible. All her thoughts were tricking her, summoning a spectre drummed up by wishful thinking. She allowed herself to look again, slower this time and from the end in this case, starting first at the black leather studded boots. They encased toned legs going well past her knees and the black leather greaves she wore. All of which was covered by a form fitting black tunic that boasted dragon scales. And true to the words of the bards, her “rack” was well displayed, her gray tinted skin a shocking contrast to the all black attire. Even the gloves that spanned her arms, buckles decorating them, a match to the belt around her waist, were a sight to behold, the fingertips talon like and dangerous. Unable to distract herself any longer with the specifics of the armor, she allowed herself to look into that face, let herself drink in the appearance of her friend before she drew a shuddering gasp. Blue eyes surveyed them, all of them, the illusional color of ice on a clear day.   
“Well, I was promised a great rack and I got one,” Falin remarked, of course the only one able to find words when none were available.  
“Mistress!” the servant cried, wriggling in the ward's embrace now.  
She was all but ignored, everyone too dumbstruck to even move. Lilith fought for words and was so close to forming some. Miraak beat her, however.  
“This is where you've been?” he asked, his tone hostile.   
He took a step forward, menacing without meaning to be. His hands swept to either side of him, as if he was challenging her to come closer.  
“Hiding out in the wealthiest city in the Hold, evicting innocent bards and for what reason? Hm?”  
Her response was a bemused smile that died as fast as it had appeared.  
“If you find yourself so curious as to my movements then I shall tell you, Dovahkiin.”  
Her tone was cold and mocking with an edge to it and Miraak visibly flinched. Lilith reached out, resting a hand on his arm, not sure why though it felt necessary.  
“After I finished your destiny, I knew that while part of me had the knowledge to harness the Thu'um, I needed to put it to practice. I needed to forge a new identity or else I would fall back into the old one. I ventured to Akavir, hoping to find some hint of what dragon were before. And finding nothing there of value I returned to Sovengarde, to those who denied me aid and lost the glory of ending the World Eater, and I trained. I found a new path and I truly became queen to the dragons,” she explained.   
She gestured to the house around them, dismissively, as if it was nothing.  
“I returned to Skyrim, to Solitude, to inform them of the return of the dragons under a new name, a new ruler and was issued this house, this property,” she went on.  
She cocked her head.  
“What more reason do I need?”  
Miraak's body tensed under Lilith's hand but only because Brynjolf had stepped around him. Lilith looked to Bishop who seemed more interested in watching Falin stack the knocked over dishes to the growing distress of the servant, her steadily growing tower more precarious with each passing second.   
“What about me, Syra?” Brynjolf asked and it was probably worse than Miraak throwing accusations in her face.  
He ached and Lilith could hear it in his voice.   
“Didn't I even warrant a goodbye?”  
Syra. Lilith said her name softly. It was so odd to try and reconcile this cold, near heartless woman with the dry witted woman that had saved them just a year ago. She was more dragon, it seemed, domineering on those stairs, looking down on them. Like a dragon on a mountain, she realized. But for a brief second, she saw the ache in Bryn's voice appear in those blue eyes, a fate tremor to that unmoving body. And then, Syra looked away, composing herself in the span of seconds before looking back. She turned away, lifting her leg onto the stair above .  
“Release Valdra,” she commanded. “And leave.”  
“Syra, I'm going into a ruin, trying to follow clues to a Snow Elf settlement that hid my mother and I away when the gods were hunting us,” Lilith blurted, finally finding her voice. “I could use your help. Please.”  
Syra paused, glance over one shoulder, strands of her black hair falling into her face. She seemed tired of their mere presence as it was and exhausted as she thought about having to further associate with them.  
“Good bye Lilith,” was all she said before heading back upstairs. 

 

He seethed. He tried not to make it obvious but he was afraid it was, given that his companions crowded close to Lilith, choosing to try and coax her out of her own stupor than address him. All the better. The inn was crowded and they'd managed only one room. The girls would sleep on the bed while the men got bedrolls. It seemed fair. He wouldn't be sleeping, Bishop could sleep anywhere and Miraak was already asleep in a chair. But Falin was already curled up at the end of the bed. He partly wished for her ability to detach and her talent for hiding said detachment behind an air of carelessness. Any other time, he could actually. He was enraged, finding out that Mercer had joined up with that dragon cult, selling out a good amount of their own thieves. Lives lost that didn't have to be so that Mercer could further the goals of Syra's batshit crazy brother and Lilith's revenge chasing half sister. He closed his eyes, resting his fist against his forehead. He'd been so mad and had hidden it, had calmed Vex and Delvin, seen to it that the guild survived. And for awhile, piecing back together something broken had gotten him through the worst of Syra's absence, or at least he'd hoped so. All he knew was that having something to distract him, to exhaust him, well, it stopped letting him see her dragon body thrashing through the skies, entangled in Alduin's deadly body, suppressing his panic, telling him she'd be in his arms again, only for Lilith to tell him different. That she was gone. And then standing on that lonely mountain, expecting that wise old dragon to assure him that she was okay, that she was coming back and discovering said dragon was gone. He hissed now and stood up.  
“Going for a walk,” he threw over his shoulder, in case they were worried he was planning something stupid.   
What he had in mind was no plan at all. 

 

Valdra had served in Imperial households. She'd raised babies in her youth and proper young ladies as she got older. And perhaps her strictness was why she'd never married. But it was why she was so highly revered, even as a servant. She knew enough magic to properly defend a home, enough alchemy to brew a tonic and enough about the kitchen to keep her patron well fed. As she stirred the pot of stew, a weak broth really as was all her mistress could really keep down, she found herself incensed as she heard the door creak open.   
“The mistress,” she began, storming into the room, already suspecting who it would be.  
Rather than the whole party, however, she merely saw the Nord who'd dared speak her mistress's name. He looked enraged and that made him dangerous. She palmed a fireball and he smirked at that.  
“I've come to call on your mistress,” he informed her. “And I will not be denied. Now we can do this the easy way or the hard way. But I will get up those stairs.”  
Valdra glared, enraged. But knew she would not kill him and did not want to potentially lose her life or her employ. And so the fire disappeared.  
“If she calls me to, I will remove you,” she informed him.  
He said nothing, making his way up the stairs. And he moved quietly too, not wanting Syra clued into his presence. There were a lot of rooms to peek into but he finally found her, sitting in a chair that faced the door. She didn't seem at all surprised to see him either. Just tired.  
“I granted you a goodbye this time,” she remarked. “What more did you want?”  
“A proper hello,” he replied as he crossed the room, catching her around the waist and lifting her from the chair.  
She didn't object or tense as he kissed her then. In fact, she responded, eager as he was, her body unmoved against him. He gave it another minute before he drew back a bit, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.  
“Sorry,” he whispered, worried he'd hurt her, worried she was flashing back.  
Those blue eyes fluttered to him and she pushed weakly. He let her go, watching as she lowered herself to the chair, collapsing midway through.  
“Lass?”  
“You handle me so roughly and then worry you've broken me,” she laughed bitterly. “When I've broken myself.”  
“Explain,” he demanded as he too sat, pulling the chair next to her out quickly.  
She gave a harsh chuckle.  
“Coldharbour was still a part of me,” she explained, humoring him. “I spent so much time in Sovengarde that it burned into me with as much fire as Coldharbour and it attacked what it found of that cursed place. It would purify me or kill me in the process or so Tsun claimed. He ordered me out sent me to my waiting dragons.”  
She brought a hand up, her fingers fiddling with the gloves. Probably for something to do.  
“I was helpless for days before I could even get to my feet. And when I did, I returned to Skyrim.”  
“I still have the estate. You could have come to me,” he insisted. “I would have cared for you.”  
“And if I had died?” she demanded to know, tone even, neutral.   
As though she didn't care about his response. She leaned forward and he caught the slightest glimmer of pain though she hid it well, right in his face now.  
“Because I almost did. Could you look at my corpse and honestly say it would not have destroyed you more. Better you all believe me alive should that happen.”  
“Then perhaps it wasn't a good idea for you to cause such a stir,” he teased her.  
He pressed a kiss to her lips  
“Let me go get Lilith. If anyone can fix you, its her,” he insisted.  
She smirked and he loved the feel of her lips curling against his.  
“I'm healing even now,” she assured him.  
Without his knowing, her gloves fell to the floor, the sound surprising him almost as much as the feel of her arms around his neck, her body moving so that she was straddling him, sitting in his lap. Automatically he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her there as she seemed more interested in burying her face in his neck.  
“Come with us,” he whispered. “On Lilith's expedition.”  
She chuckled and leaned back.  
“Brynjolf, I'm recovering. I'm a liability.”  
“A very pretty liability.”  
“I need Valdra.”  
“What can she do that Lilith can't?”  
“She's a genius when it comes to alchemy.”  
“So's Serana.”  
Syra gave a frustrated sigh and Brynjolf grinned.  
“I promised my services to Lilith,” he said. “And I can't go back on my word. But neither am I letting you out of my sight.”  
His hands wanted to move lower but he wouldn't push, sliding his hands to her thighs, playing with her boots ever so slightly.   
“So, get the recipes you need from that croon because I'm not leaving here without you.”  
She stared at him, her expression guarded, as she considered his words. Her answer could go either way it seemed and he wasn't exactly sure which way it was headed. 

 

Dawn was much too early to be up. Or else that was Lilith's sentiment, one shared with her party. Bishop was grouching to himself, as was his way and Miraak was silent. The only one still asleep was Falin, who'd climbed onto the stoic Miraak's shoulders, drooling all over his shoulder. He didn't seem to bothered.  
“Where's Brynjolf?”  
Serana asked this though everyone probably knew already. Lilith pushed their way out of the inn, her mind already wondering if she could woo Vex to help her. She did still need a thief and Vex was almost as skilled as Brynjolf.  
“There he is.”  
Bishop's words were followed by a yawn as everyone followed his half assed wave. Brynjolf was leaning against the wall ahead of them. And Syra was beside him, sitting against the wall, wrapped in a pitch black cloak. Lilith resisted the urge to run over, choosing instead to appear calm and collected despite the fact that she hurried over. Her thief companion grinned at her and there was pure bliss there. His missing piece returned to him. Syra, meanwhile, looked exhausted as she got to her feet, using the wall as assistance.   
“Lilith,” she greeted, tone cautious, her face arranged in a serene expression.   
No smile but that was Syra's way. Wordlessly, Lilith wrapped her arms around the halfling, surprised when Syra hugged her back.  
“You're hugging me!” Lilith couldn't help but announce, blurting her surprise.  
“Don't get use to it,” Syra ordered, tone stern. “Brynjolf wore me down.”  
“With sex.”  
They both jumped apart, surprised by Falin's sudden appearance amongst the conscious. She grinned from where she'd planted herself between them, mischief and mayhem in that expression.  
“I forgot how creepy you are,” Syra declared, making a face at the other halfling.  
Falin grinned.  
“I get creepier,” she admitted. “You'll find that out when we're tent mates.”  
“That's where I step in,” Brynjolf declared, wrapping an arm around Syra's shoulders and drawing her in. “Because she is most definitely my tent mate.”  
“No fair!” Falin objected. “What about Miraak? He's been your tent mate. I don't have one.”  
Brynjolf shrugged.  
“That's your problem,” he admitted, offering no solution.   
Lilith watched the two argue, watched Syra mentally drift off. She felt better, more whole and certainly relieved with Syra now present. She knew she should get them moving but wanted to enjoy the mindless banter, if only for a little while.


End file.
